Matryoshka
by Reyser
Summary: Link, Zelda — Broken dolls are the prettiest. And you're my matryoshka, aren't you? — Character death, violence. One-shot.


**Blargh. So...this is the result of me, staying up when I should be sleeping, **

**Warning: ****Twisted. Very, **_**very **_**twisted. Link is out-of-character, but mleep, there's a reason for that.**

**I guess.**

**Includes character death, but it's nothing too bad [or is it?] **

**Sadly, this isn't really Zelink, but I guess it is if you want to think about it in that weird way. Not really horrific, but that's the only thing that worked. **

**If you don't want violence/shameless character death, then quite simply, **please don't read it. **Don't say I didn't warn you!**

**This doesn't really have a plot because it was lost when I was going insane trying to write this weirdly [it's got a strange style]. Thus, weird fic. was born.**

**Flames are approved.**

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She looks at me [she's got that smile], and it's beautiful [monstrous]. She laughs, a tinkling sound [like funeral bells] that echoes around me and I reach out a hand to take hers [and crush it within mine].

"Nice day, isn't it?" She asks, and looks towards the sky where wind whips around us like soft ribbons [knives]. Birds fly from above, squawking at each other before settling in trees [to die again].

"You could say that," I agree subtly, and it's a perfect kind of calm, tranquil beauty that makes you want to keep it for yourself [shatter, break, it's all too fake].

Snow sits on the ground like a beautiful, pale blanket [I'd like to mar it with her blood] and scraggly, naked trees reach to the sky with pointed limbs [dead, they're all dead].

"It's cold," she tells me, and giggles, it's an airy, light sound. It sounds free [only to be caged again]. She wraps her scarf tighter around her [I want to reach out and strangle her with it]. "I miss summer." She complains, and shakes her head.

"You're silly," I laugh and pat her head fondly [I want to rip it off of her], admiring the intricate designs of her scarf [wrap it around her neck and watch her bleed]. "In the summer, you complain it's too hot, but now, you complain it's too cold?"

She laughs at this, a sound I want to treasure [keep, it's all mine].

"There's just no pleasing you, is there?" I ask her teasingly, and she laughs again [no pleasing her, none indeed].

"It runs in royal blood, you've told me," she informs me smugly with a bit of defiance of her own, and her hair, beautiful auburn, falls over her scarf and her shoulders.

"Oh, please," I roll my eyes at her, and she mirrors my actions, tilting her head to the side [it's a perfect position for me to reach out and snap her neck]. "Don't flatter yourself like that."

Her eyes sparkle with mirth [I want to see them dead, crushed by my command] but just as fast, the sparkle disappears. She frowns, and it's such a cute notion [so cute].

"Is something wrong?" She asks uneasily, and scoots over just a bit. It's a miniscule movement, so tiny that I barely notice it [but at the same time, I do].

It's my turn to stare at her with bewilderment. She looks as if she's scared of something [of me, she should be scared] and I squeeze her hand reassuringly.

"What do you mean?" I ask her, and my insides lurch and my heart speeds up because I don't know what she means and it's infuriating and –

[I want to see the white frost tainted with scarlet].

"You're acting different," she says bluntly, though I can see concern behind her tone [for the hero, not the beast, never the shadow]. "It's like..." she trails off. "It's like you're _possessed _or something."

The idea sends chills through me [because it's true] and I stiffen. The bench suddenly feels even colder, the winter air seems to freeze [at my command].

"Why would you think that?" I ask, clearly offended [because she's smart enough to see through my lies].

She scoots away again, and this time it's a clear movement that makes me uneasy because [it means she's going to escape from me—but not this time] it means she doesn't trust me.

How [could she see through my facade]?

"You're staring at me," she says finally [staring, watching, dreaming of your crimson], "with a kind of monstrosity behind your eyes. It's scaring me. Snap out of it!"

She's pleading with me, desperately, [I want to see her beg for her life] and it hurts. I squeeze her hand again [a little tighter this time] and she pulls it away.

I pretend not to be hurt by her gesture, though it rips me from the inside out [and I long to reach for the silver and cut her once, just _once_].

I stare at her with sympathy, because I don't know what's happened to my precious Princess [it doesn't matter anyway] and concern flits across my eyes [which flash crimson underneath the fake light].

"Get away from me," she demands hoarsely, and springs up from the bench, wiping her pale hands on the skirt of her dress. The skirt is the color of vanilla and lavender, so soft and gentle [especially stained with scarlet]. "You're not Link."

[I'm not?]

Her words strike me like blows and I, too, stiffen and stand up [she's a bird that isn't getting away this time].

"Zelda," I plead with her [try to convince the bird before it flies away], "what are you talking about? I'm _Link. _I'm here."

She stiffens and snarls, power bursting from her veins [such a shame that it's not enough]. Magical fire flares, I recognize it as Din's fire and I feel my heart lurching because I don't know what I'm doing [but I have to, because I command myself to, shadows] –

"Shadows," she growls, and when the sun hides [desperately] behind the clouds, the temperature drops. "You're just a shadow." Her voice has such a harsh tone to it that it makes me wonder why she's doing it [run, princess, _run_.]

"I'm not," I insist desperately, "I'm Link. I'm your hero." [And I'm the one who's going to slice your pretty head off of your shoulders, clean].

My eyes flash red for just a moment, blood-red, and my hands seem to move on their own, gripping my blade and she backs off, fire still bursting and [RUNRUNRUN] –

I know she's a fool for staying behind [because she's still hanging on to thinking I'm still a hero when only _shadows _remain].

"Leave," I manage to choke out on word and [what am I saying? No! _No_! She needs to stay, _staystaystay_, I need her, need the red—] "Now."

Her eyes widen in alarm, crystal blue, and [I'm fighting, fighting, no! Attack her! You _weakling_!]

It takes all my self control to hold back the crimson from rushing into my eyes, to stop myself from turning into the _beast _and I wonder how long, how it happened, how I didn't notice so long ago –

[...because I am eternal and a shadow always lingers. You didn't think you could really run, could you?]

I don't know who it is, but I hear somebody [it's me] echoing in my mind, forcing me to, but I don't want to, and I scream at her one last time and hope that [she doesn't run].

"_Leave_!" I yell at her with as much force as I can, and it's the strongest words that [I promise won't mean anything because she'll _stay_].

It's empty, strangely, bizarrely empty here, and I realize it's because we're in her courtyard. Nobody is here [to save her] and suddenly, without the birds, it look so bleak [a perfect place to die, don't you think?].

She backs away, and she's got a stricken look on her face [don't back, stay, you _coward_]. I know she doesn't understand, though she wonders _why _or _how_. She sees—she knew of the possession, the lingering _shadows _[I am not a shadow. I am a beast. I am the darkest corners of your mind. I am _you_.]

No. He's not. The voice is back, in my mind, he tells me he's me, but he's _not. _I am a hero, I am nothing like him [but you are, I _am_ you, can't you see?].

"Link," she trails off and takes one step forward [come closer, closer, _closer_], "I can get help. You don't have to do this..."

But the minute she steps forward I know, I know, I _know _that it's a mistake because [I take the chance to leap towards her].

I hate myself more than anything. I can't—won't—not able to—stop the _beast _[or stop yourself] from emerging and attacking her. I should have backed down, but I cannot, because [shadows are in control].

Before I know what's happening, before I know what's going on, my fingers are wrapped around the hilt of my sword and she's struggling desperately, shaking, trying to rip free, and I'm fighting against myself to let her go [but you're losing, aren't you—always].

The blade flashes, flawless silver, and her eyes widen as she tries to pull away from me again.

"You're not Link!" She spits, and struggles. But [I know] the struggle is hopeless because in the end [I'll have my way, princess]. "I should have known! Right from the start!"

She's still trying, Nayru's chosen, and though I want to let go and watch her run and never return, [it's a shame that she's mine now, and mine only].

I can't fight the _shadow, _I can't fight the beast, and when the blade rises against the pale blue of the sky, I still try to fight. I try to fight against _him _[although you know it's useless, isn't it?].

My mouth opens for just a moment, and I nearly tell her that I'm _sorry, so sorry _[even though you're not, beastly shadow].

I'm still begging, pleading with her to forgive me for being weak and not being able to [she won't forgive you, not now, not ever, not in another lifetime] stop it from happening. She's still screaming and thrashing at me like a bird with broken, bleeding wings [can't fly away now] and though it pains me, I have to do it. I have to listen to him and the beast eats me from the inside out.

[Wonderful, isn't it? So weak. Such a weak Hero.]

The voice is still there, tormenting, whispering, _nevernever_, sending chills down my spine, but I can't help but listen to it because—

[Voice? What voice? I'm you. _You you you. _You wanted this.]

And so, it takes one moment, only one, to [slide the blade, silver beauty down the pale, soft skin] finish what _he _came for [cruel temptation, isn't it?].

And it sickens me to say that [I want more, more, MOREMOREMORE—] it's beautiful as the blade comes again, more and more, bleeding lines, down her body. She's stopped struggling and her body's limp in my arms, as scarlet petals drift down and stain the snow.

I shake her, just a moment, to see if she's still alive, but she shakes—like a rag doll, like a marionette—that's finally snapped [underneath my hands]. The bleeding lines of crimson and scarlet intertwine with each other and I barely recognize the once-white fabric of her dress.

Her head lolls to the side, and I realize that [she's never looked so beautiful].

Then, with shaking, scarlet-stained hands [stained, tainted, it's all the same] I pull back and her body hits the ground without making a sound.

I look around wildly [with feral, blue eyes] and nobody's here, so it's just me and him and what remains of her and –

[Him? Only _you_ and the shadows that linger.]

_Dear Goddesses_, _nononono—_

I leap backwards, shaking, staggering, trying to wash away the [beautiful] sin staining my hands, but it doesn't work because it's there –

[always, always, always.]

My legs, my body, my instincts tell me to _runrunrun _and so I do, but I look back at her [because I've told you to] and she's still there.

Just lying, simply, broken, porcelain, glass, marionette, _doll. _And I laugh, [mirth] because I realize she looks so beautiful [monstrous], so broken [at my command], and I did it all for her, for _herherher_ , because I love her so much and and it's his fault, his fault, his fault, HIS FAULT and I wonder what kind of beauty hides behind the bleeding flesh –

[broken dolls are the prettiest. and you're my matryoshka, aren't you?]

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**- FIN –**

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**Somebody, **_**please...**_

**Okay, what did I just write? I didn't—I think I'm wrong in the head. I shouldn't be writing this sort of stuff.**

**Reviews would be nice. Flames approved.**


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